


The Church

by Dark_And_Twisted_Thing



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Closure, Deleted Scenes, Hand porn, M/M, Past Molly Graham/Will Graham, Post Fall, Unapologetic Face Grabbing, Unapologetic Religious Imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5781571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_And_Twisted_Thing/pseuds/Dark_And_Twisted_Thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have built, deep in my heart, a chapel filled with you - Marcel Proust</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Church

“Jack will be here soon.”

Will opened his eyes. The sunlight streamed in through the high church windows, streaking across his face and bathing him in heat. It was an imposing brightness, and Will shied away from it. He shifted slightly in his seat, turning towards the man sitting across the aisle. Hannibal looked back at him, shaded slightly by Will’s shadow, his eyes bright and his face carefully blank. 

“I know.”

Hannibal closed his eyes once again and said nothing. 

It was a comfortable silence they shared, easy and sweet despite the unspoken threat which lay behind it. When they had come to this place, they both knew what it meant, and the possible end to their truce lay heavy and quiet between them, resting in the divide of the aisle. 

They had not become lovers, in spite of the lurid suggestions of the press and the numerous tasteless monikers assigned to them by Tattle Crime. Freddie’s speculations on the nature of their relationship had caused no discomfort between them, with her words causing them no pain or confusion. They had maintained their distance, read the words that were written about them without emotion, and had never once strayed into awkwardness in their interactions. The nature of their conversations had remained tactful and remote, and they had shared physical space without unease. 

In the weeks after their fall, they had followed their story, watched the speculation and hysteria wax and wane, and observed their tale as it was told by those who did not know them. They had seen Jack Crawford dispassionately announce their possible deaths, and just as dispassionately announce their resurrection a short time later when their bodies were not found and experts maintained their fall was eminently survivable. 

Hannibal had been tender and polite with Will, the softness of his fingers, his sweetness and detached medical touch recalling a time many years ago when it had been a broken thumb which needed bandaging or a set of bloody knuckles which required cleaning. Will, for his part, had learned to touch and care in much the same way, never shying away from the necessity of assisting in Hannibal’s healing process, but never offering more contact than was necessary. There was no threat or intent in their movements, and they never spoke of death or the possibility of their easy peace coming to an end. 

Will never asked Hannibal to go back, never asked him to stop. Hannibal never asked Will why he had chosen this path, and never asked him what he wanted.

They ate simple, clean food, not elaborately prepared, but always good. It was not vegetarian, but it never occurred to either of them to push the point. They slept together when they were on their boat, and apart when they were afforded the space to do so. They ate together always and read together often. 

Hannibal sketched, drawing the places they stayed and the things they saw. Will watched him draw, recalled the briefly glimpsed image of his face drawn into the beauty of Botticelli’s Primavera, and said nothing about Hannibal’s current proclivity for drawing exclusively landscapes.

Will though of Molly often, but did not attempt to contact her. He knew it would do no good, and he was caught between the knowledge that she would have unwavering faith in him and the troubling doubt that her faith may be misplaced. Hannibal had asked about her only once, gently mentioning that he could easily arrange for her to be contacted safely, should the thought be of comfort. Will had thanked him politely for the offer and had commented that the scenery in this part of the woods was beautiful. Hannibal had informed him that the fishing was excellent. It had ended at that, and no further attention was given to the subject of Will’s wife. 

It was Hannibal who had suggested coming to Florence. He had spoken of Florence often and with fondness, dextrously avoiding the uncomfortable memories which haunted the streets of the city. Will had usually demurred from discussing the topic at length, clever enough to know what meaning lay behind the words, but three days ago he had relented and they had flown to the city immediately. 

They both knew. They were not stupid, nor were they blind to the foolishness inherent in coming to this city if they wished to remain free and undisturbed. 

Will was aware of the gambit Hannibal had made. Will also knew that this decision regarding their future was his to make.

Sitting now in the temporary sanctuary of the church, Will remembered Hannibal’s words to him all those years ago, kneeling in the snow at his house in Wolf Trap, fixing him with a meaningful look as he informed Will that he could always be found. He remembered walking away from Hannibal then, slamming his front door with distaste, and looking down at the clothes he was wearing with the knowledge that Hannibal had carefully removed the clothing given to him by Mason to wear to his death and had dressed him in his own clothes. He had briefly felt a sickly wave of sadness before remembering Abigail’s face as she bled on the kitchen floor.

Now, Will looked down at his hands, clasped casually over his knee, the gold wedding ring shining on his finger. Molly’s choice, engraved with the date of their wedding, carefully plain and designed to endure through weather, work, and injury. A ring bought with the wearer in mind, a tribute to the selflessness of the woman who had made a place for Will in her world. Will dragged his eyes upwards from the ring to rest on the face of the man seated next to him. He thought of the man who had dressed him in his own clothes and placed him gently in his own bed, who had sat and watched over him while he slept off the hideous drugs given to him by Cordell. He remembered fighting sleep that night, terrified of the nightmares which might plague him in his drug addled state. He remembered Hannibal’s voice speaking endlessly of Florence, speaking of the city and its sights, recalling social gatherings and recounting tales of amusement, chattering about nothing in an even, soothing voice until he fell asleep. 

There was a right choice and a wrong choice, of that Will was certain. Morally, at least, it was perhaps reprehensible that he had delayed making it this long. Psychologically, it was impossible that the choice could be delayed further.

“Hannibal?” 

Hannibal opened his eyes.

“Yes, Will?”

“Do you remember the last time we were here?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what I said to you?”

“I am unlikely to have forgotten, Will.”

“I have forgiven you, and I meant it.”

Hannibal closed his eyes again briefly.

“I have never doubted your sincerity,” he said, his eyes drifting open again to fix on Will’s face. 

Will stared pointedly into the neutral distance in front of him.

“I saw her, you know. Abigail. She followed me here, and I saw her, just like I saw her father.”

Hannibal said nothing, he merely continued to look at Will, his eyes bright and unwavering. 

“I told her that there were places in your mind that only we could go.”

“What have you found in those places, Will?”

Will was silent for a few moments, his eyes falling again to the ring on his finger.

“Myself, in some cases. Different versions of me that you have made in your image. You fear them, but you create them all the same.”

“Perhaps. Go on.”

“I have found myself and Abigail there. Victorious, in triumph, bathed in blood.”

“I have seen you victorious outside the confines of my mind, Will.”

Will allowed the flicker of a smile to dart across his face before continuing.

“I have found your sister. Dead, her eyes eaten by flies. I have found you there, an ugly, twisted version of yourself burying the good in you beside the decaying body of your sister.”

Hannibal did not flinch. 

Will twisted the ring on his finger with his thumb, watching the gold glint in the sunshine. The church was silent, empty, the only sound being the echoing of their breath stirring in the open space between them. Hannibal took a breath and spoke, his voice quiet and somber in the warm air.

“A part of me died with my sister, Will, I cannot deny that. Perhaps I would have been a different man should she have still been in my world. It is not a thought I bear often, but I have considered it.”

Will lifted his eyes to meet Hannibal’s.

“Do you believe you would have been a better man?”

“I cannot regret who I am.”

“Would you like to keep me in your world?”

“My world, as I have said before, is a better place with you in it.”

“You came here with me, knowing Jack would find us.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need to ask you, do I? I know you would go with him.”

“If it is how you wish for this to end, certainly.”

“Why?”

Hannibal sighed and pressed his palm into an invisible crease in the fabric covering his knee.

“I have options, of course. I could kill you. You have always known that. I have never seriously moved to do so before, and I do not wish for that outcome now. I could disappear without you. I do not believe you would endure that. You would feel compelled to find me, and I would be compelled to let you. That course of action would merely delay the inevitable choice you must make now, and it would be a pointless dance which would give us no pleasure.”

Will was silent, awaiting the continuation of Hannibal’s thought process. Hannibal made no move to speak again, however, so Will leaned forward, broke his eye contact with Hannibal, and rested his elbows on his knees.

“I could kill you,” he said quietly, looking up to the altar before him, its space crowded with icons and burning candles. 

“Certainly. You have had ample opportunities to do so, and I have been aware of them. Yet, here we sit.”

“Would you let me?”

Hannibal was silent only for a single beat.

“Yes.”

Will chucked bitterly, letting his face rest on an expression somewhere between amused and pained. Hannibal continued on.

“You have made attempts on my life before. I have always known my death at your hands is a possibility.”

“Is it one you relish?”

“I do not relish the idea of death, Will, as I do not believe any man would.”

“But you would let me kill you?”

“I would prefer it if you were the one who ‘took me down’, as they say, yes. Should that be how I am destined to end, I would accept that fate with grace.”

Will regarded the candles on the church’s altar with blank eyes.

“All those years ago, on Mason’s farm, you seemed accepting of your death then, too. Would you have been just as pleased to die at Mason’s hands?”

Hannibal shot him an expression of distaste which was so tangible, Will could feel it without looking at him.

“I had no intention of dying at Mason’s hands.”

Will laughed again, a little less bitterly this time. 

“You would have been annoyed by the sub-par preparation of your limbs. Cordell’s cooking skills weren't all that great if the smell was anything to go by.”

Hannibal smiled.

“It would have been ignominious, I agree. However, I was confident it would not be troublesome to arrange for the derailment of Mason’s plans. Your presence at the dinner table was useful in that regard.”

“You knew Alana would not let me die?”

“Partly, yes. I drew that conclusion when I saw her. I also knew that Margot wished for a child, and for the death of her brother. It was simple to provide for those needs while assuring my own safety and yours in the process.”

Will pushed himself up and twisted to face Hannibal more fully, sliding his feet into the aisle between them.

“Alright. You knew you wouldn’t die there. How about when Matthew strung you up? Were you accepting then?”

“That would have been a death by proxy, Will. It would have been tantamount to dying at your hands. It was your design, and it was executed with an acumen and ruthlessness I admired. I had no qualms about dying at Matthew’s hands. I also had no qualms about surviving and being the cause of Matthew’s death. It was the hand that was dealt to me.”

Will thought for a moment before speaking.

“I was angry, you know. That night at Mason’s.”

“I believe we were all made aware of that.”

Will smiled genuinely, a grin which left his face a little bewildered by its appearance.

“Yes, well, I was angry at the situation. Angry that I was caught up in it. Angry because my head hurt, my tie was too tight, and my legs were going to sleep….but I was mostly angry because Mason…Mason….”

“….Mason had no right to touch me?” Hannibal finished gently, with the barest hit of intonation at the end of the statement rendering it into a question to be answered.

A gleam of anger flashed through Will’s eyes, flint hard.

“Yes. Mason was worse than one of his pigs. He was rude, smug, and childish. He was going to take you, and I was furious with the idea. I shouldn’t have been, but I was.”

Hannibal slid sideways in his chair, sliding his feet into the aisle in front of Will’s, and facing him fully. He leant his arm across the back of the chair casually, and regarded Will with something akin to amusement and affection.

“If I may make an observation, Will, it very much seems as though you do not wish to have me, but you do not wish for anyone else to have me either.”

Will scrubbed at his face with his hands.

“Yes, well, it seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“I have nothing to offer you that I have not already offered. You could have come with me that night in Baltimore. I would have taken you and Abigail and made a home.”

Will opened his mouth to speak, but Hannibal raised his hand to stop him.

“We will not dwell on past mistakes, be they yours or mine. But nevertheless, it is what it is. I would also have disappeared that night in Wolf Trap if it is what I thought you truly wanted. I would have vanished and never returned to you. But your possessiveness was evident at Mason’s table, and I was curious. I was, as it happened, also correct regarding your mind, it seems.”

Will looked at Hannibal’s face as though he would like to slap it.

“Of course, you are always right. “Say please” you say, and you know I’ll say it.”

“Not one of my finer moments, Will, but amusing to me all the same.”

Will rolled his eyes. He stared at the floor between their feet, an ever decreasing patch of tile which struggled to keep them separated. 

“Are you always going to play with me? Dip your fingers inside my mind and fish around to see what strings you can find to pull?”

“I cannot lie to you. It has always been a pleasure to watch your mind work.”

“You have not ‘watched it work’, Hannibal, you have poked around in it to see what you can make it do.”

Hannibal was silent for a moment. 

“It is true - I have manipulated your feelings and your body into betraying you and making you doubt yourself. I cannot find that you have not done the same to me, however.”

Will remembered Freddie, the long pig, and the sight of Hannibal’s face as he held him in his kitchen - pain and betrayal written across his features, blending seamlessly with the blood there. Will remembered Hannibal’s eyes, blown black with rage, the lines of his face twisting with emotion as he watched Will cry and bleed on the kitchen floor. 

“I was doing what I thought I needed to do, Hannibal. You needed to be stopped. I can’t regret trying, even if I do regret the way it was done.”

“It was a choice you made then. I do not find fault with you for making it.”

Will did not miss the hint of sorrow in Hannibal’s voice.

“You have to make another choice now, Will. I will not find fault with what you chose, but you must choose soon.”

Will glanced up from the tiles on the floor to the hand dangling with false casualness over the back of the chair. Hannibal betrayed nothing or next to nothing with his posture and voice, seemingly determined to make the choice appear innocent and without consequence.

Will took a deep breath, his thoughts having circled back around to the question which had hung heavy in the air between them since they had been pulled from the freezing water beneath the cliff.

“We have another option, as I am sure you are aware.”

Hannibal allowed the silence to speak the thought heavily into the air before vocalising it himself without intonation.

“We could continue on as we have been. Together.”

“Yes.”

“Does the thought appeal to you, Will?”

Will’s hands found his face again, and he absently ran his fingers across the healed scar on his cheek. The sensation of it against his fingertips briefly recalled the hot flashes of emotion he felt that night on the cliff, killing the Dragon with Hannibal. He recalled the blood, black in the moonlight, thick and sickly warm against his skin. He thought of the flesh between his teeth, and how it had tasted coppery and slick on his tongue. He remembered Hannibal’s whispered words to him, breathed into the cold air between their steaming bodies, and how Hannibal had clutched at him desperately, clinging to him despite the certain knowledge of what Will intended to do. Although his arms had resignedly dropped to his sides in the moments before their plunge, Hannibal had held him tightly on the way down, never letting go. He had held Will protectively in spite of the coldness of the water and the cracking of their bones against the rocks. Will knew he had held Hannibal back, uncertain of their fate, but certain that he was not going to let go. 

The gold ring on Will’s finger glinted. Hannibal’s fingers continued to dangle absently over the side of the chair. 

“Hannibal, are you in love with me?”

The fingers did not move, and Hannibal answered him immediately.

“I believe I am.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“I am unsure myself, Will.”

“I asked Bedelia, you know. I asked her if you were in love with me.”

“She can often be very insightful. How did she respond?”

“She said you felt a daily stab of hunger for me and found nourishment at the sight of me.”

“I would say that was accurate.” 

Will found his head was feeling heavy, and his breath was becoming slightly uneven as the weight of the confession crashed down. It was not exactly a revelation to him, of course, as he had long been aware that Hannibal did not entertain a strictly professional interest in his mind. He had suspected that Hannibal’s feelings may border on something akin to love since he had perched next to him on the bench in front of Primavera, watching as his face lit briefly with the joy of the familiar. After all, he would not have asked the question of Bedelia if he had not felt it warranted. Still, sitting across from Hannibal and hearing it from his own mouth was fairly daunting, and Will was unsure of how he should tread in this new territory. 

Hannibal broke his casual pose and leant forward, leaning more imposingly into the increasingly charged space between them. He looked up into Will’s eyes, letting Will see him fully as he spoke. 

“Will, I believe I have felt something like love for you for a long time. I would not have placed myself so completely in your hands so many times if I did not feel you were worth gaining, and I would not have allowed myself the indignity of three years in Alana’s care if I did not feel a piercing need to ensure that I was able to look on your face again. I have made all of my recent choices based on my affection for you, including the choice which sees me sitting here, awaiting your sentence. You are fully aware that I will return to the hospital for the criminally insane if that is what you wish. You are also fully aware that I would have died with you on the cliffside, and that I would let you kill me now if you so chose. Do you truly think I would allow you to make these choices if I did not love you?” 

Will looked down at him, slightly breathless and feeling a little dizzy. 

“No. No, I know.”

Hannibal leaned back again, resuming his reclining pose. Will starred at him.

“Hannibal, how am I supposed to make this choice? You’re asking me to kill everything I am. You cannot ask me to do that.”

“I am not asking you to do that, Will. I am simply answering your questions. It is you who believe the only way to maintain our current relationship together is for you to change yourself into something you abhor.”

Will chucked gracelessly - a hard, bitter sound which resonated sharply in the open space around them.

“You are blood and death, Hannibal. You cannot tell me I can be who I am now and return your love or even accept it. It’s not possible. I would break myself into what you want me to be, and I would hate myself for it. I chose to end us that night on the cliff. I chose to kill us both. You know that, and you know why I made that choice. It was the only way I could give myself to you and still be who I am.”

“Do you want to give yourself to me, Will?”

Will snorted.

“Why else would I be here? I could have picked up a phone and called Jack’s number. I could have asked you to walk into the nearest police station and scare the living daylights out of everyone by announcing who you were. I could have walked into your room and slit your throat while you slept. I could have done any of those things and gone home to my wife.”

“Will, I do not wish to hurry you, but we have been…”

Will snapped to his feet and stalked over to the candles burning on the alter. He twisted the wedding ring from his finger and dropped it into one of the burning candles. The wax swallowed it immediately, and he watched the ring sink into the clear white of the candle. He saw the gold resting against the bottom of the glass jar, glowing faintly in the light, and felt an overwhelming pang of sorrow and anger at the loss. Will knew he could not go back to Molly, no matter what he chose today. At the start of this mess, he had told her he would not be changed, and he had lied. She would have forgiven him, of course, taken him back into their home, held him close, and never asked him to speak of it. Her actions would have been selfless and beautiful, and Will would have eaten himself alive for allowing her to re-commit herself to someone so flawed and so ungrateful. He knew he was not cruel enough to return to her.

Hannibal had remained seated, watching Will’s actions impassively. He drew no conclusions from what he witnessed. Will had been emotionally divorcing Molly from the moment he had opened his eyes after his fall from the cliff and seen Hannibal’s face beside his, alive and alight with pain. Hannibal knew this final act of separation was natural in the circumstances, and he did not entertain the delusion that it would lead to a resolution which would be pleasing. 

Will turned, facing Hannibal and putting his back to the altar. 

“Hannibal, would you ever say ‘stop’? If you love me, then stop? Stop being who you are and become what I want you to be?”

“Not in a thousand years. Would you ask something like that of me?”

“Never. It would be…cruel.”

Hannibal stood gracefully and moved to stand before Will. He raised his hand and gently stroked Will’s face, mimicking the gesture he had performed as a shaking Will had stood before the trembling body of a terrified psychopath and the corpse of a dead horse.

“Will, I expect you to be exactly who you are, and nothing else.”

Will looked up at him, his face awash with misery and confusion.

“I don’t think I can make this choice, Hannibal.”

“You are asking me to make it for you, and I cannot. I will not remove your agency from you. It would be remarkably unfair on us both were I to do so.”

Will closed his eyes and felt every movement of Hannibal’s fingers against his skin. The fingers stroked gently along Will’s unmarked cheek, unwilling to influence his choice by invoking memories of the Dragon. Will spoke slowly, not wanting Hannibal to remove his hand, but ever aware of the time, ticking down to make his decision for him, were Jack to arrive before he chose.

“How could this be done? How, Hannibal? It’s not possible.”

Hannibal looked down at Will, allowing his emotions to register on his face while Will’s eyes were closed to him.

“I confess I do not know, Will. It is not possible for me to speculate on what we would become together. I can assure you that I will not make you party to what you do not wish to see. Should you choose to separate yourself from the darker side of my nature, I will not force you to become part of it. I am also under no illusions about myself, however, and I do not believe you would be able to delude yourself into believing that I am able to survive without an outlet. If you chose to kill with me again, I would be honoured, and I would embrace that part of you. If you chose never to kill with me again, I would not be offended, nor would I care for you less.”

Will felt Hannibal’s fingers slide back across his cheek and come to rest just beneath the collar of his shirt. Warm fingertips gently brushed the soft hair which curled at the base of Will’s neck, and Hannibal allowed the palm of his hand to rest along the line of Will’s jaw as he continued. 

“These would be your choices to make always, Will, and I would respect your wishes. Whether or not you are able to maintain yourself in my space with the knowledge of who I am and what I have done remains to be seen. I would not want to see you loose who you wish to be.”

Will opened his eyes to look at Hannibal, and was immediately jarred by sight of the open emotion registering on his face. He had seen genuine emotions grace Hannibal’s features before, but more often than not they had been muted and fleeting, allowed to remain for only a moment before they were wiped clean and replaced with an impassive mask. Hannibal chose to wear no such mask now, and Will was struck by the honest hope he saw written across a face which was usually given over only to expressions which were carefully contrived to deceive. 

He reached up and took Hannibal’s hand, pulling the fingers from his cheek and holding them gently between his own. 

Hannibal’s fingers tightened around his hand, and he drew Will gracefully into his arms. Will allowed himself to be held, standing with his back to the cross and his hand clasped with the devil’s. Hannibal’s chin rested softly on his head, and they both felt the steady beating of their hearts echo dimly in the space between them. 

Will felt Hannibal’s breath stir in his hair.

“You will do what you know to be right, Will. You always have.”

Hannibal ran his thumb across the back of Will’s hand, committing the sensation to memory. 

***

Jack looked steadily at the candles burning on the alter. His mind was clear, even as his conscience drilled a burning hole into the space between his eyes. He knew why he had come here, but he did not know what he would find. The team of heavily armed Italian police officers who accompanied him had tried to insist on coming inside, but their guns and riot shields had no place in such a peaceful space, and Jack had convinced them to remain outside and cover the exits. The church was full, and he had not wished to disturb the peace of the worshipers, milling about oblivious to the threat which lay hotly around them.

Jack’s head tilted minutely as he scanned the faces of the churchgoers, and he recalled briefly how he had denied catching the Chesapeake Ripper before, standing over Hannibal’s kneeling figure as he waited patiently in the snow. 

Jack stood, placing his hands in his pockets with a casual tranquility he did not feel. He strolled towards the altar, and turned his face up to the figure of Christ hanging on the cross, his arms outstretched and bloody at the wrists, his face set in an expression of mournful serenity as he lamented the plight of the sinners he must suffer to save. Christ’s curly brown hair was adorned with a crown of thorns, the blood trickling down his cheek and marking his face with bloody tears.

A priest slid into the space next to him, coughing imperceptibly and addressing him in smoothly accented English.

“Excuse me, signore, we are closing for a private function in a few moments. My apologies.”

Jack glanced at him sideways and shot him a tired smile.

“Is it that obvious that I’m American?”

The priest returned his smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Ah, you will forgive me, signore. It was possible to see you from a long way off.”

Jack thought for a moment. 

“Yes. I suppose it was.”

He turned from the altar with its flickering lights and regarded the sanctuary around him.

The church was empty.


End file.
